TBDH : What Kind Of Love, Wikhn?
by Scioneeris
Summary: AU. Set in the TBDH Universe. NOT TBDH Canon. Features eventual Harry/Wikhn. Harry/Theo/Charlie. Theo is injured during a fight gone wrong. Charlie, Harry and Wikhn pick up the pieces.


**Summary:**

Set in the There Be Dragons, Harry Universe, this snippet is meant to be a One-Shot with Harry/Wikhn pre-courting and slightly darker than my usual drabbles. It is NOT TBDH canon. First Person POV.

* * *

 **Pairings:**

Harry Potter x Harry's Bonded

 **Disclaimer:**

I do not own any Harry Potter anything. That belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like playing with Harry in my own little world of storyville. I make no money by writing this fanfiction. All original characters are my own.

 **Rating:**

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16.

* * *

 **WARNINGS:**.Smexy Hints. Slash. Angst. Family. OC's. OOCness. TBDH Universe. AU. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** This is a prompt fill for more Wikhn, with a "happier" ending. It's more of an abstract Harry-reacting to everything. In this case, Theo's been injured in a fight and Charlie and Harry are scrambling to keep things together. Wikhn came with them, after finding out what's happened and what's going on and he's upset on Harry's behalf. Cue story. with drama. and romance. maybe? Enjoy!_

 _NOTE-also This is by Florence and The Machine. I love this song, because it's just SO Wikhn and Harry. It's perfect._

 _Thanks for reading and your continued support of this dragel-fandom-love-fest ~Scion_

* * *

 _SONG: WHAT KIND OF MAN, by FLORENCE + THE MACHINE. (I do not own these lyrics)_

 _I was on a heavy tip_

And Harry's stumbling out of the room, eyes vacant, legs uncoordinated. The floor—no, his world—has dropped out from under him and he can't think, because no—not Theo.

Not HIS Theo.

He can stand on his own two feet. Knows how. Has tried. Will do it, if he absolutely has to. But this—it hurts. It breaks and twists into him in the worst way.

Because he can't do this. He won't do this.

This is Theo.

And Arielle, this kind of hurt can kill.

 _Trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb_

 _You were on the other side_

 _Like always, wondering what to do with life_

* * *

"Harry!"

And Wikhn is there, his hands clamping down on Harry's shoulders, grounding him and holding him in place, just when he thinks he's about to run.

"Look at me!"

And that hurts too, because Wikhn has pretty eyes and Harry doesn't want to look at them, because he can't bear to see the hope that he can feel through his empathy.

But he looks.

Even as his legs buckle, giving out from under him. And Wikhn is grabbing him, holding him, not-letting-go-of-him and Harry can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

"W-wik-hn!" the name is stammered out in more syllables than should ever be possible.

 _I'd already had a sip_

 _So I'd reasoned I was drunk enough to deal with it_

 _You were on the other side_

 _Like always, you could never make up your mind_

* * *

"Theo will be fine. Theo is fine. I swear, Harry. I would not tell you this if I didn't believe it to be true-"

"But he-!"

"Look at me, Harry."

And Harry does. Because he can't do otherwise. Not when Wikhn is holding him there. Holding him so tightly that his cracks are already gluing themselves back together.

Maybe Wikhn is right.

"You will listen to me," Wikhn's voice is hot and fierce. "Do you hear? You will not lose yourself in your mind." The words stab through Harry with devastating accuracy.

He nods into Wikhn's chest, hands braced on Wikhn's shoulder guards. Because he needs to touch something. Needs to push something. Wants to be held. Wants to push everyone away.

But Wik's talking and Harry knows he ought to listen. Wikhn doesn't like it when he doesn't pay attention. No one ever likes being ignored.

"This was an accident. There was nothing you could do. Theo is recovering. Theo is fine. Theo will be here to join us. Charlie is alright. Everyone is alright. You do not need to fall to pieces, do you hear me?"

Harry murmurs something. He wishes he knew what. But his mouth doesn't really want to work right now and his brain is mush. His mind is replaying that stupid freak accident—the reality that shouldn't have become real.

Someone is targeting and he wants them to pay. Wants them to hurt. Wants his Theo back. Because Theo is his world and Wikhn's there and Harry doesn't know what to make of that.

Because Wikhn's not his—yet.

Not yet.

But Harry hopes.

One day?

 _And with one kiss_

 _You inspired a fire of devotion_

 _That lasted for twenty years_

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

* * *

The kiss is slow.

It burns. It hurts.

It soothes. It works.

Harry breathes.

Lips on lips. Soft lips. Warm lips. Moving gently against his. Insistent, but kind.

Somehow kind.

Harry kisses back.

This time, Wikhn returns it. Again. And Again. And again.

Harry trembles. Something inside of him stops shivering and stretches.

 _To let me dangle at a cruel angle_

 _Oh my feet don't touch the floor_

 _Sometimes you're half in and then you're half out_

 _But you never close the door_

* * *

Wikhn's hands slid up Harry's sides, tugging at his shirt, ruffling in his hair.

It's messy. Harry whines. Why do people always do that to his hair? Don't they know how hard he works to try and keep it looking neat?

The kiss breaks off, only to be replaced by many soft, sweet kisses.

This is nice, Harry thinks. He likes it. Could get used to it. Would gladly let Wikhn take his heart.

Wikhn purrs.

Harry melts.

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

* * *

Those hot hands on his cool skin. Harry gasps.

This is a hug, isn't it?

No. It's more.

But these kisses…

Cool hands on fevered skin. Wikhn laughs, deep and musical.

Fae are pretty things.

Harry cradles that precious face between his hands. Silently memorizing every wrinkle and crease. The scars he can see and the ones he can't.

The way those pink eyes darken to a near-red. The way those lips curve into that wicked, wicked grin.

This will be the saving of them, Harry thinks. Wikhn is talking, but the words are simply washing over Harry. He's done listening for now.

 _You're a crazy fool all colored blue_

 _Red feet upon the floor_

 _You do such damage, how do you manage_

 _Trying back for more?_

* * *

Charlie growls somewhere in the background.

Wikhn wrenches away, pink eyes hooded with barely concealed lust. He licks his lips and deliberately removes his hands from Harry with elaborate slowness.

Harry is pulled into Charlie's fiery embrace, but the hands are different and now he's confused. He wants Wikhn, doesn't he?

"Theo's fine," Charlie mutters, kissing the top of Harry's head.

That's good, Harry thinks. Can they hurt the ones that hurt Theo now? Can he see Theo?

He wants to see Theo. Needs to see proof of these spoken promises.

Needs it, desperately.

And then he's hugging Charlie and turning around in those arms, clinging to them. Searching hands find purchase in Charlie's smoky, half-singed jacket, because that fight didn't leave them unscathed.

Kisses. More kisses. Mmmhmmm. Harry likes this. Needs this.

 _And with one kiss_

 _You inspired a fire of devotion_

 _That lasted for twenty years_

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

* * *

But Wikhn—

And now he aches. Feels it like a dull, slow burn pooling in his belly. A distinct ripple in his magic. A burning touch on his skin—everywhere that Charlie's large hands brush, Harry twitches.

This is not fair, he thinks. This is not the way it's supposed to be. But how does he change it?

How could he change it?

This is Wikhn.

Strong. Proud. Independent.

Wikhn is a Gheyo King. Fitting, Harry thinks. But he has no idea how to court a Gheyo. Knows nothing about Gheyo ranks.

Which comes first? The King or the ACE? Does it matter? Yes? No? Maybe? How?

This is something he could ask Theo. Maybe. Harry thinks that Theo is not happy about Wikhn. But, that is not a problem.

Theo is not happy because Harry is not happy.

Wikhn could make Harry happy. Harry's never had a Gheyo King before. That would be special, wouldn't it?

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

* * *

"Excuse me?" The Medic stands in the hallway, clearing their throat, awkwardly. They motion to Charlie.

And Harry's left there, standing, watching as those capable hands leave him. That's good? No. That's bad. Harry doesn't want to be standing by himself here.

But he knows he can't handle that seriousness. Can't be coherent while they speak of serious injuries. Shouldn't be that close to feel the empathy or smell the blood.

Not from his Theo.

It's better to simply funnel all of the goodness—the hope and light inside of him—through their shared bond. Theo needs that, Harry thinks. Needs that the same way that he needs to breathe.

There is strength pouring back through their bonds. Now, Harry believes, Theo will be alright.

 _But I can't beat you_

 _Cause I'm still with you_

 _Oh mercy I implore_

 _How do you do it?_

 _I think I'm through it_

 _Then I'm back against the wall_

* * *

Wikhn slinks a bit closer.

Harry whirls on him fiercely.

The smirk grows as Wikhn approaches.

Harry lifts his chin.

This is bad. He thinks. This is good. But everything ends.

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

* * *

And then Theo is there. He's alive. He's strong. He's perfect. Everything is alright.

Everything will be alright.

They talk. They hug. They kiss.

This is love. Harry thinks. This is life.

This is what he needs.

Theo is furious. Charlie is upset. Harry wants to avenge them. His wonderful Bonded do not protest.

They want blood too, Harry thinks. Because someone has dared to hurt them. Has tried their very best and almost succeeded.

Almost.

For this, they'll pay.

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

* * *

When they find them, Harry's hands won't stop shaking. His magic is raw and wild, twining viciously around him.

He's afraid of what he could do. He's afraid to walk away from this. Someone's going to hurt and Theo—his Theo will make sure of it.

Charlie will back them both up.

Harry cracks his knuckles. He throws the first spell.

Wikhn slices down in front of him, a slip of dark shadow and glowing pink eyes. His fangs are visible over the top of his lower lip. Shiny, bright and white.

Harry's never seen Wikhn look so dark. He didn't know Wikhn's sword could absorb spells.

Then the sword blurs and Harry can't breathe.

 _What kind of man loves like this?_

 _What kind of man?_

* * *

There's blood everywhere.

There's nothing left.

Theo is oddly satisfied. Charlie is more reluctant to accept the outcome.

Wikhn holds a permission slip in hand. He gives it to Theo, who keeps smiling that odd little smile. It means that the bloodbath was alright.

Harry lifts his head, stares straight ahead, proudly.

That cocky smirk plastered on his face, his hands bloody and dangerous—Wikhn beckons.

Harry goes to him.

* * *

 **This is NOT TBDH-canon. Like most of my prompts, this was written in a 30-minute block. I apologize for any obvious typos or plot holes and the fact that it's largely in present tense. This was born from the need to write something for the New Year. Whoops. I guess my hand slipped... I hope you enjoyed it! I was going for a Quinn oneshot, but then this little dark nugget came up and it was 100% Wikhn. Thanks for reading and reviewing! HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU AND YOURS! ~Scion**


End file.
